


digging you (like an old soul record)

by LaT



Category: Everybody Wants Some!! (2016)
Genre: First Time, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 22:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6584857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaT/pseuds/LaT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> It starts, like almost every-fucking-thing in the house starts, with a game.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	digging you (like an old soul record)

**Author's Note:**

> They're introduced in the movie functioning like a unit. Roper won't let McReynolds join a bar fight because his pro prospects are so good. They pull girls together. And they look like Ryan Guzman and Tyler Hoechlin. 
> 
> The movie doesn't have a plot – unless "hanging out" now counts as a plot – so there aren't any spoilers other than McReynolds _hates_ losing. It's hard to tell exactly what year the other players not specifically identified as freshmen in the movie are, but for my purposes here, Roper, McReynolds, Coma, Dale, Finn and Nesbit are all juniors in the movie; this story is set about five months into their freshman year.
> 
> Thanks to [Poisontaster](http://poisontaster.tumblr.com) for the beta and the encouragement.
> 
> The title comes from a Meshell N'degeocello song.
> 
>  **Warnings:** There's a brief moment of Roper ignoring McReynolds' boundaries, but he course corrects before it becomes a bigger problem. Movie-typical profanity.

_January 22, 1977_

It starts, like almost every-fucking-thing in the house starts, with a game. Specifically, darts. A simple game of Around the World and Kenny's not going to apologize for it when his dart lands in the inner bulls-eye after Mac's hits the outer one. Somehow, that makes Mac even angrier and before anyone knows what the hell is happening, they're screaming at each other in the living room, which leads to screaming at each other in the kitchen before it turns into screaming at each other in what Finn pretentiously calls 'the sitting room.' ("It's the den. You can call it 'the den,'" Dale said the first time he did it; he tried correcting Finn six more times before he just gave up.)

Kenny's not even sure _why_ they're arguing except that Glen McReynolds may very well be the _shittiest loser on the planet_ , and something about him brings out the contrarian in Kenny. He's dimly aware, on the edge of his consciousness, of Dale telling Nesbit they've been arguing so long Dale doesn't even remember who _won_ , and at some point Finn unhelpfully tells them – shouts it, really, over all the racket they're making – they've driven Coma into hiding in the _coat closet_.

Kenny doesn't care. Mac's temper tantrums when things don't go _exactly_ his way are bullshit and _someone_ on this team needs to be man enough to tell him so. Mac doesn't act like this on the field, so the upperclassmen leave him alone when he does it in the house. For all his bluster, Finn apparently has a more finely-honed sense of self-preservation than Kenny does and he's only ever willing to push Mac so far. Dale floats above _all_ of their crap on a regular basis – because he has more sense than any of them, including Kenny – and Coma's asleep half the time. Kenny doesn't know if Mac has even bothered to learn Nesbit's _name_ yet, so Nes is utterly useless as any kind of back-up. 

It doesn't matter. By the time Kenny and Mac make it upstairs, Finn's yelling "Wake up, Coma!" and hauling him out of the closet as Dale loudly suggests to Nesbit that they hit the Fox until this shit blows over. It hurts Kenny's pride a little to hear Nesbit bet Finn ten bucks Mac throws the first punch. _//You're **my** roommate, fucker. That should count for something.//_

"I don't understand why you won't go best out of three! Are you that fucking scared of me?" Mac asks, furiously slicing through Kenny's pity party, table of one. 

"Oh my God, are you fucking _kidding me_ with this shit?" Kenny says and he can feel the tension headache creeping up behind his eyes. "You can't possibly be 18 years old and still _not know you won't always win._ " 

Mac gives him the double-barreled middle finger and rolls his eyes so hard it makes Kenny wince. "I know that, jackass. I'm just not gonna pretend _I don't fucking mind it._ Good sportsmanship is for pussies who care about having friends!" 

That statement would be hilarious to Kenny if they weren't going to be teammates who had to figure out how to live with each other for the next four years. But he can't take this for another four _seconds_ , no matter how pretty Mac's swing is (not to mention his what-color-even-are-they eyes and that round, gropeable ass). The tension behind Kenny's eyes has crept into his jaw and if he starts back up with grinding his teeth again – after deliberately leaving his bite guard at home because he was sure he wouldn't need it – he really will kill Mac. 

"WELL I THINK YOU NEED SOMEONE TO FUCK SOME GOOD SPORTSMANSHIP INTO YOU!" 

Okay ... okay that ... that wasn't where Kenny thought his temper was taking him. He shifts his feet apart, ready to absorb the no-doubt-impending blow of a haymaker to the face. 

The strangest thing happens instead. Mac's eyebrows draw together and he tilts his head, looks Kenny up and down. It's suddenly so quiet Kenny can hear the clock on Nesbit's bookshelf ticking away the seconds. Then Mac does something that honestly scares Kenny. 

He _smiles_. 

And not the sly, arrogant one he gives a pretty girl who's caught his eye. Or the reluctant, trying-to-bite-back-the-laugh one he gets anytime Finn goes off on one of his Salinger-inspired riffs. No, this is the sharp, merciless one reserved for a pitcher Mac's already figured out by the time he gets to the plate. 

He steps to Kenny, right up in his space and it's only the knowledge Mac would be disappointed if he took any steps back that keeps Kenny rooted where he is. 

This close and Kenny can see Mac's eyes are green-hazel with flecks of gold around the pupils and, nope. Not the point. 

"So you've thought about that, huh?" Mac is in full taunt mode now, the not-quite sing-song he does when he's not only trying to but succeeding at getting under a pitcher's skin. He leans in close, lips almost touching the shell of Kenny's ear. "Am I on my back?" 

There's a bead of sweat working its way down Kenny's left temple and he tries really hard not to picture that and wholly, utterly fails. 

Mac doesn't let up. "Or do you like me on my hands and knees?" He pulls back so they're nose-to-nose. Not touching but they could be if either of them tilted his head forward just so. "Do I beg?" (Maybe that has happened once or twice when Kenny's only had his hand and his imagination to keep him company.) Mac smiles, all cocky, pretty grace. "Do I say your name when I come?" Kenny Roper hates everything about his life in this moment except how much he likes the idea of that. 

He could close the gap between them so easily and shut Mac up with the flick of his tongue across that plush, mean mouth, but right as he works up the courage to go for it, Mac, the rotten fucker, steps back, almost out of reach. "Nah. You couldn't handle me." He turns to leave, and even without seeing his face, Kenny knows he's wearing the insufferable, shit-eating grin he gets when he wins and that ... simply won't do. 

Kenny hauls him back by his shorts, pulls him in close and tight, so the curve of his ass fits snug against Kenny's hard-on. With his other hand, he grabs a fistful of Mac's soft, thick black hair and yanks his head back. This time, it's Kenny's lips at Mac's ear and _he's_ not a fucking cock tease. He bites the lobe, soft enough he doesn't break the skin, hard enough Mac squirms against him. 

"We'll see about that." He slides his other hand around to Mac's front, fingers splayed over the ribbing of the tank top, then the rough cotton of the shorts and there. Right there, and he's got a palm full of twitchy, stiffening dick. Good. He's not the only one. 

"Come on, man," Mac says, the long fingers of both hands digging into Kenny's thighs. "I can do that myself." 

"You could also stand to learn some patience, Jesus fucking _Christ_." Kenny means it, but he doesn't hesitate to work his hand inside Mac's shorts, past the elastic waistband, pleased to feel Mac's going commando today. His dick is warm in Kenny's palm, already a little slick and that's really goddamned hot. If Kenny was in a better mood and, well, a better person, he'd take the edge off, but he's neither of those things and Mac's a brat, so he gives Mac's dick a quick squeeze and pulls his hand away completely. This is as much about teaching Mac a lesson as it is about getting off. "Get on the bed." He underscores it by shoving Mac away from him. 

Of _course_ it's not going to be that easy. Mac turns to face him, the grin on his face making it clear he knows _exactly_ how distracting he looks, tank top pushed up to reveal the skin of his belly, shorts pushed down so far his pubes are on full display. "Make me." 

Kenny doesn't dignify it with words. He puts both hands on Mac's chest and drives him straight back onto the nearest bed (which, thank God, is his and not Nesbit's, because that's just being a shitty roommate). The element of surprise works in his favor; Mac has no time to plant his feet and put up any resistance. 

They land on Kenny's bed with a whoosh and Kenny gets his hands around Mac's wrists to hold him down as he lines their bodies up and thrusts, grinding down hard. The friction on his own dick makes Kenny hiss, then Mac makes everything better and worse all at once by arching up, coming at Kenny with just as much force. 

It feels good, but not nearly as good as it will when they don't have any clothes on. Kenny sits up, basically in Mac's lap, and lets him go long enough to yank off his own t-shirt. He half expects Mac to reverse their positions now that his hands are free and he's set to grab Mac's wrists again, but Mac tugs off his tank top, tossing it in the general direction of the door. 

Which they should probably lock. 

Kenny's always thought the idea of a Catch-22 was bullshit but he suddenly understands when faced with the choice between letting go of a half-naked McReynolds or risking someone walking in on them. 

"Stay," he says, holding his hand out, like Mac's some misbehaving puppy. He climbs off Mac and the bed, runs to the door, locks it and gets back on top of Mac before he has a chance to ask what the fuck Kenny's doing. "Where were we?" 

"Pants." Mac looks too amused for Kenny's taste, too in control. Kenny leans down, intent on kissing the smug out of him, when Mac turns his head. "Don't." 

Wait, what? "That makes no fucking sense. I _just_ had my hand on your dick, and you're telling me I can't kiss you?" 

Mac looks at him, all the playfulness from a second before gone. "Not on the mouth." 

It's stupid and Kenny's a great kisser and this is partly about teaching the son-of-a-bitch how to compromise so he leans forward again. Mac's hand on his chest is a solid, unforgiving weight as he pushes Kenny back. "Try to kiss me again and I'm out." 

_//Pick your battles, Kenny.//_ He holds his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Okay. No kissing." It sounds gentler when he says it than it did in his head, but it seems to be what Mac needs. Kenny _feels_ his hand soften as he slides it down Kenny's torso, to the waistband of his jeans. 

"Just … not on the mouth," Mac says, looking down as he undoes the button with one hand, works on the zipper with the other. He rubs at Kenny through his briefs with the back of his knuckles, and looks up. 

Fair enough. Kenny smiles as he slips his fingers back into Mac's hair, tugging gently until Mac's throat is exposed. "So, this is okay," he murmurs against Mac's collar bone before giving it a soft, light kiss. 

"Mmhmm," is the answer, the vibration tickling as Mac keeps stroking Kenny's dick through his clothes. 

Mini-crisis averted and Kenny can work with this. He kisses Mac's shoulder before shoving him back into the pillows. "Pants." 

Mac laughs. "Maybe I could do that if you _weren't in my lap_." 

"Excuses, excuses," Kenny says, as he rolls off of Mac to toe off his shoes. 

"But I'm right," Mac sits up and gets rid of his shoes and socks. He lays back down on his side, facing Kenny, but makes no effort to take off his shorts. The outline of his dick through them – hard, making a wet spot by the pocket – is one of the prettiest things Kenny's seen all week. 

"And yet, you still have your pants on. Meanwhile, I'm over here, taking mine off." Kenny shimmies out of his jeans, gratified by the way Mac watches him. 

"I'm enjoying the view." 

"You're stalling," Kenny says, straddling him again. "Look: I'll show you mine if you show me yours." He thrusts against Mac for good measure, a reminder of what they're here for. 

"Did you just _dare_ me to take off my pants?" Mac rolls his eyes _and_ his hips at the same time. It's almost cool, until he moans at the friction. 

"Maybe." Kenny starts rubbing himself on Mac in seriousness, the cloth between them somehow better and not nearly enough. "Come on. Gimme." 

Mac grabs his hips. "Up." He pushes Kenny away from him so he can slide out of the shorts. Kenny holds himself over Mac, licks his lips when Mac's dick, finally free, bounces against Kenny's belly, the head red and wet. 

" _Thank you_ ," Kenny says with exaggerated politeness. He nods down at himself. "Now, can I get a little help, or should I just crush you while I take these off?" 

"Like you could," Mac says, his hands already in Kenny's briefs, gliding over the cheeks of Kenny's ass. 

Kenny lets it go because truth be told, Mac has great hands and they're kneading Kenny's ass like this isn't the first time the two of them have ever done this. Finally – fucking _finally_ – he pushes the briefs down. Kenny twists to help get them off and then surges onto Mac. The slide of his dick along Mac's skin is _fantastic_ , so good he almost forgets Mac's rule. At the last second, he ducks his head, finds a sweet spot under Mac's chin and kisses him there, tongue slipping out to taste his skin. 

Mac keeps one hand on Kenny's ass as he shifts them a little, so their dicks are more closely lined up. He brings the other one to Kenny's chest, thumb brushing over Kenny's nipple as he rocks the cradle of his hips upward. 

Kenny loses focus for a bit, the twin sensations of Mac's hands on him and the slick rubbing between their legs making him whine into Mac's neck. 

Mac's _noisy_ , which delights Kenny. Long, low moans. Soft, breathy sighs. The occasional whimper. And he might not want to be kissed on the mouth but everywhere else is fair game. Kenny's shoulder. His throat. His chin. Each one punctuated with the flick of Mac's tongue and Kenny tightens his grip in Mac's hair, not meaning to, but not wanting to let go either. 

There is a point, somewhere, to all of this, but damn if Kenny can remember what it is if it _isn't_ about getting off. It's hot upstairs and they're both sweating now, which makes all of it better. Kenny drops his head down, forehead aligning with Mac's, so close they can breathe each other in. Mac lets out a hungry, frustrated sound and bucks against Kenny so suddenly it almost hurts. The warm, thick wetness between them tells Kenny all he needs to know even before Mac goes completely still, eyes drifting shut. 

Of course he's the asshole who falls asleep after he comes. _Of course he fucking is_. 

"You are _unbelievable_ ," Kenny starts in, but it's all he says before Mac clamps a hand over his mouth. 

"Give me _two fucking seconds_. Jesus." With his other hand, he rubs Kenny's back. "I just …" He opens his eyes and his pupils are huge, rimmed in green and gold. "I promise I'm not going to leave you hanging. Just … gimme a minute." 

"Fine," Kenny says, muffled by Mac's hand. He licks the palm. 

Mac smiles as he pulls his hand away, index and middle fingers brushing Kenny's lower lip. "Brat." 

"Takes one to know one, son." 

With his hands on Kenny's hips, Mac shifts Kenny off of him like it's nothing, settling them on their sides before pulling Kenny's leg over his hip. "And _I'm_ impatient?" 

He runs his hand through the mess on his stomach as Kenny opens his mouth to lay out the list of all the things he is. Kenny promptly shuts it when Mac closes strong, slick fingers around the base of Kenny's dick and does a slow drag up the shaft. He glides his palm over the head, then presses his thumb to the vein on the underside on the downstroke. 

Kenny's hips snap into the touch and he bites his lower lip as Mac strokes him, firmer this time, palm on the upstroke, the back of his knuckles on the way down. 

"Fuuuck," Kenny groans, turning his face into the pillow as Mac cranks him again and again. 

"Oh, don't hide from me now," Mac says, catching Kenny's chin in his other hand, making Kenny look at him. "Not after all that shit you talked." He tilts Kenny's head back a little. "You can watch me or you can watch yourself. Or both. But you can't hide." 

They watch each other as Mac brings his other hand into the mix, tugging at Kenny's balls, testing their weight and give as the hand on Kenny's dick never lets up its confident, amazing pace. 

Kenny moans, shameless and greedy, and it feels so fucking good he can't even be mad about it when Mac laughs at him. Especially not when Mac reaches behind his balls, to the space between them and Kenny's hole and rubs at it with his knuckles, a sweet, unrelenting pressure that makes Kenny come with a shout, jizz all over Mac's fist. 

Mac slows the pace as Kenny drifts down but doesn't stop until Kenny put his own hand over Mac's to hold him in place. He's a little sleepy, but he doesn't dare close his eyes. He's given Mac enough ammunition for one afternoon. 

Mac rolls away first, wiping his hand on Kenny's sheet before stretching like a cat in the late afternoon sun. Kenny settles deeper into the pillows, watches appreciatively as Mac stands and starts picking up his things. He really is, as Kenny's abuela would say, "put together all nice." 

"That's _my_ shirt, you fucker!" Kenny says, because naturally Mac can't go three minutes in a row without being a dick and he's cleaning himself with Kenny's t-shirt instead of his own. He pulls on his shorts. Kenny can't help but notice the two of them were at it so long the wet spot dried. 

"That's why we have laundromats," Mac says, unrepentant. He tosses the shirt at Kenny's head. 

"You are _such_ an asshole." Kenny catches it in mid-air. 

"But I'm your favorite asshole, admit it." He still hasn't put his own shirt back on. 

"I don't know. I might prefer Nes." 

Mac pouts. "That really hurts." He starts walking backward towards the door. 

"Suck it up, buttercup." Kenny drops his shirt beside the bed. "Where are you going?" 

When Mac reaches the door, he unlocks it, but doesn't open it right away. "To take a shower and get something to eat." He tilts his head to the side, the same way he did earlier, and narrows his eyes. "Oh, I'm sorry, you didn't want to cuddle or anything stupid like that, did you?" 

Kenny feels like a pitcher Mac's sizing up again. "No," he says, keeping his tone light. _//Maybe. Yes.//_ "But I will have you know, I am a _champion_ cuddler. It's all part of the Full Kenny Roper Experience and I've gotta be honest. I feel sorry for you that you're missing out." 

"You feel sorry for me?" Mac's smile is all perfect teeth and dimples. Kenny wants to punch him. "Keep telling yourself that." 

Kenny's had enough. "Fuck you, McReynolds." 

The smile fades from Mac's face and for a split second, Kenny feels bad about it, but no. Fuck him. He can pretend it's nothing, but Kenny doesn't have to like it. 

He's so busy stewing he doesn't realize Mac's walked back over to the bed until the mattress dips under his weight. He starts to tell Mac he wants to take a nap when Mac leans in and kisses him. With intent. With tongue. On the mouth. Long, deep, wet and so goddamned filthy Kenny feels it down to his toes. They're both panting when Mac finally pulls away. Kenny sways towards him, shiver tripping down his spine as Mac says, 

"Maybe next time." 

_~*~_

As it turns out, Glen McReynolds never stops being an incredibly shitty loser. He's just never a shitty loser with Kenny. 

**Author's Note:**

> The movie implies the houses the baseball team share were given to them at the start of the 1980-81 school year, but for this story, I didn't want them living in the dorms. So this takes place in the first set of houses the school gave the team, pre-film. ;-)


End file.
